Important Update from a 34-Year-Old Woman

Whew! This blog. It really is a relic. Just look at that vintage Hampton Tutors banner ad! This month's sponsor, last month's sponsor, and next month's sponsor. Thank you, Hampton Tutors, for not only being loyal to me all these years but also for your bravery in remaining attached to this publication which surely contains countless cancellable offenses. 

Speaking of which, I would like to get out ahead of any backlash for my decision to dress as a Cheeto-munching, maxi-skirt-wearing, pregnant Britney Spears Federline for Halloween back in 2006. I ask that you view me as a victim of 2000s pop culture rather than a contributor to it. Keep that in mind as you read back through old posts. I am a victim. 

I would also like to add a disclaimer that I stand by nothing ever written in this blog and do not endorse a single word.

Now, what's new with me, you ask? How about an update?

Let's start with the biggies. 

• A global pandemic broke out last year. For a while, it was exciting - NOVEL, if you will. We called it "coronavirus" and blamed it on a small reptile/anteater (??) called a pangolin. Now, 18 months later, we call it "covid" and it's the most boring thing ever. Seriously, don't bring it up. Snoozefest. Indeed, charitable mask sewing and Zoom happy hours have been replaced with a general malaise and deep-seated resentment toward humankind. We've also shifted the blame from pangolins to the Chinese government, who at the very least owe everybody—particularly pangolins—an apology. 

• The Killiamson family up and moved to Scotland in January 2021. There were 12 people total on our Boeing 787 Dreamliner as we soared over the Atlantic. Each of us had our own row and everybody slept (except me, of course—mom life, amirite?).

As for the more mundane updates you're used to getting from the Grassyllama in Chief, I have plenty of those as well. I'm Day 3 into a 5-day staycation at home with no kids or spouse. FIVE DAYS! I don't know how it happened either, but I'm not questioning it. Here's what I've been up to: 

• Got my ears pierced. Decided to get five piercings all in one visit because it could be years before I have a kid-free day again (mom life, amirite?). Two piercings in each lobe, plus one cartilage (helix) on the left ear. It was great. I felt like I was in junior high again—except this time, instead of Dana Gray shoving a safety pin through my lobe and into the back of a sliced apple, it was an actual professional using a sterilized needle. Progress. 

• Got a haircut. Not wise to book it on the same day as the piercings. Hard to trim this bowl without grazing the open wound in my king lear! That's cockney rhyming slang for "ear," according to a cursory Internet search from one tab over. 

• Got keys made. My front door key hasn't worked since we moved here eight months ago. Getting the keys made took less than five minutes. If you've been on the fence about going to the locksmith (or the cobbler—for some reason they also make keys), let this be your sign that you MUST GO NOW. Don't procrastinate any longer. Get those keys cut, dawg! Get loads of keys made! Give them to everyone you know in case you ever get locked out. Hide them all around your yard. Make it happen—TODAY. 

• Watched two seasons of a show called "Never Have I Ever" on Netflix. It was definitely made for teenagers, but I needed something light and breezy to zone out to while eating an entire Chicagotown frozen pizza for LUNCH. It did the trick. 

• Wrote letters to Martha and Sammie to read in the event of my untimely death. I sobbed throughout. SOBBED. I had to leave the living room and type them from bed for fear that passersby would peek through our windows and think I was having a mental breakdown. The letters are Google Docs and I've emailed them to Andy to print/deliver upon my death. However, I'm fairly certain that he (a male) will die before me. I've got statistics on my side with that one. 

• Cleaned the glass window of the woodstove. Had been meaning to do that for a while. 

I feel young again.

So yeah, I've been HIGHLY productive. The past three days have been brilliant. It sounds cheesy, but I've been reminded of who I am outside of being a mom. And who I am is a BLOGGER. A 2000s-era blogger who's brave enough to take what could just be a single tweet and stretch it into 500-words of self-absorbed drivel. 

It's great to be back. See you soon or, more likely, several years from now. 

Love, 
Margaret

What kind of hand cream are you using?

These days, it's only a matter of time before the conversation turns to hand cream. Small talk has never loomed so large. These days, conversations start with mask shortages, death rates, and crowded hospitals. That's how we ease into things. Only then, once we've chitchatted about funeral bans and skyrocketing unemployment rates, can we move on to the much meatier, substantive topic of hand lotion.

"Go with Weleda Skin Food if you prefer something a bit thicker."

"It's my wrists that are really bad. Worse than my knuckles!"

"I thought I liked Aveda but I think my skin has gotten immune to it."

"The other day I kneaded pizza dough after applying Trader Joe's rose-scented hand cream and later I was convinced the pizza tasted like it."

I never imagined that living through a devastating historic event would be so mundane. I assumed the world would stop! I thought we would gather in the streets, throwing old furniture into heaping bonfires, drinking moonshine and dancing under the apocalyptic skies. But instead, we keep going. Writing emails. Cooking pasta. Stepping in a wet spot on the kitchen floor and walking around with a damp sock all goddamn afternoon. Same old, same old.

One difference, however, is that we're not taking mundanity for granted. With every conversation about hand lotion, we're clinging to the mundanity for dear life. We know all that stands between us and what we're seeing in leaked video footage from ICUs is one ill-fated touch of a handrail. It's not surprising that we'd rather debate the merits of Zoom's Gallery View versus Speaker View for 15 minutes.

Annnnnnyway.

I really do sincerely think that it's insensitive to talk about silver linings when it comes to the coronavirus. But I know we're all thinking it, so I'll just come out and say it:

Covid got me blogging again!

The silverest of all linings. It only took a bloody global pandemic, but I'm back. Maybe I'll write more in a few days. We'll see. Probably not.

Stay safe (<---- hate this),

Marge